


Hearth and Home Defense

by Domimagetrix



Series: Razwan Bahir, World Guardian [13]
Category: Runescape
Genre: A Buzzard Craps Itself In Fear, Adult Language, Headcanons Everywhere, Multi, Problematic Relationships (referenced), Relationship Advice from A Notorious Prankster Witch, divergence from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domimagetrix/pseuds/Domimagetrix
Summary: Rhyaz visits an old nemesis with an alarming proposition, then dispenses advice to someone upon their return.





	Hearth and Home Defense

_Hickory, oak, pine and weed_  
_Bury my heart underneath these trees_  
_And when a southern wind comes to raise my soul_ _  
Spread my spirit like a flock of crows_

Delta Rae - “I Will Never Die”

  


Sunlight broke over the great hill next to Pollnivneach, and Rhyaz paused in her ascent to appreciate the warmth. It’d been years since she’d last trekked up this way, the sloppy-looking mass of sandstone that bordered Pollnivneach West and shaded the north of town in the afternoons going unnoticed most days, the way one forgot the sight of their own nose unless reminded.

Though the path up was smooth and even, it was still a daunting journey for one whose bones served grudgingly in the mornings. She’d never tell the woman living atop this rugged pile even if threatened, but she’d concocted a draught of something to take the edge off before setting out with cane in hand. She’d stopped being able to count the number of times she’d resorted to potions to relieve the aches on one hand some time ago. There were worse hazards of living beyond one’s prime - true infirmity, loss of the senses, incontinence - but age hadn’t come without exacting a penalty.

She thanked Zaros regularly that she was spare of body. Less weight on the supports.

Rhyaz allowed herself another moment to enjoy the slow build of warmth before continuing up, the butt of her cane tapping shallow indentations in the sand. The spray of dreadlocks in front of her eyes swayed with each step. Though tiring a little, she felt more limber now than she had when rousting herself from bed, exercise and the day’s first heat doing what it could in the face of arthritis.

Perched on an outcropping of stone, a fat buzzard peered down at her, and she lifted a middle finger to it in greeting. “Turn your scavenger’s eyes elsewhere. I’ll curse what feathers you’ve got left right off your ass.” The bird squawked, indignant, taking wing and leaving a hot pile of droppings below its perch. Rhyaz eyed them as she passed. “As well you should.”

Irregular puffs of breeze disturbed loose sand over the stone as she reached the plateau where Alice made her home. Nearly-dead scrub rustled, agitating a desert lizard and sending it skittering out from beneath it into the pools of early sunlight. The critter stopped, no doubt luxuriating in what the sun had to offer, eyeing Rhyaz as she passed it into the the shade offered by the eastern side of Ali the Hag’s residence.

As she approached the door, she felt the barrier of her old curse press inward slightly, a sensation of pressure change that passed almost as soon as it rose. She huffed a light laugh.

_Twenty years and my curse stands, Alice. A better witch would’ve countered it a decade ago._

Rhyaz rapped on the door, centering her cane in front of herself and listening. Footsteps from the other side, spaced widely with a tall person’s stride, approached before the door swung open and she was greeted by Alice’s thin visage.

Green eyes narrowed and lips thinned on the hag’s face. “Well, then. If it isn’t Pollnivneach’s finest purveyor of hallucinations.” She sneered. “And dragged her bony ass up my hill to gloat, no doubt. Shame you survived the trip; buzzards up this way have been looking a little lean lately.”

Rhyaz waved a dismissive hand at her. “If you want to feed your birds, you can be damned to drag yourself out here and do it. More on you to feed ‘em.”

Alice stiffened. “If all you plan to do is stand on my welcome mat and crow, you can stay out there. I’ve got better things to do with my time than listen to that cactus spine of a voice stab me in the ears-”

Rhyaz’s gnarled little hand tightened on the top of the cane. She lifted it and tapped the bottom hard on the sandstone between her feet.

A sound like low thunder rolled over the plateau and the ground shifted. The air condensed again with pressure and released as suddenly, the feeling of _enormity_ washing over both witches as Rhyaz’s curse lifted. The sound poured down the great hill, silencing camels and birds below, before smoothing out like water seeking its level over the surrounding terrain.

Alice froze. “You’ve been lording that curse over me for twenty years, Rhyaz. Why now?”

The smaller witch peered up at the other. “Because we’re needed in our other capacity. The four of us.”

The hag’s entire demeanor changed, crossness forgotten, and she stood aside so Rhyaz could enter as she spoke. “I’ll get the kettle on.”

  


……….

  


_I got fire in my soul  
_ _Rise up, ting-ting, like glitter_

Barns Courtney - “Glitter and Gold”

  


While small, Alice’s home was tidy. Walls and corners alike were optimized for storage - untarnished copper pots hung from nails near the stove, her spellware stored well away from the more mundane-looking iron cookware. Dried herbs - some bottled and others gathered in sheer net pouches - offered a small cacophony of different smells to the air, their combined scent intense without being overpowering. An open bread box displayed many colors of candle sharing space with chalk sticks. An impressive jar of fine-grained salt sat next to the stove. Witches sat at either side of a little table by a window, both warming stiff, arthritic fingers around their teacups.

Alice turned hers carefully as she spoke. “You realize that Razwan’s troublesome love life is hardly justification for a gathering. Aris might do it for the right price, but there’s no call to trouble Odetta.” Her voice gentled in sympathy for one not present. “She’s been through enough, the poor thing.”

Rhyaz wriggled herself nearer the window and the thin shaft of sunlight pouring through it. “Were it just a case of her love life, I’d leave her to it or brew a fix of some sort myself.” She sipped her own tea. “She’s a damned disaster, right enough, but the ones she’s tangled with impact Gielinor itself. One’s manageable, maybe, but the Mahjarrat is muddling with the very Oscilla-”

Alice’s head jerked up. _“-Mahjarrat?”_ She snarled. “Gods damn you, Rhyaz, that’s the last thing Odetta needs. That’s the last thing _Aris_ needs to face again, especially after Lucien!”

Rhyaz met the other witch’s gaze, unflinching. “Spare a lick of sense, Ali. Do you think I’d drag either into this if the implications weren’t severe enough to warrant it?”

“You say that after sending most of the damned town off chasing fairy gold and running from whatever monsters their own minds could concoct. Over a godsbedamned _bar tab.”_ Derision soured the hag’s tone.

Rhyaz rolled her eyes. “Didn’t harm a one of them. Town’s right back to its usual trade and mundanery. And I’m less one bar tab.” She smiled. “I don’t think Saiman dumping my brew into the wrong well was an accident one bit. He’s a right scamp and I set my ante on it, that I do.”

Alice snorted. “Point still stands. You stir more trouble than you set to rights. Leave Odetta alone. Oracle or no, she’s earned her peace.”

“I would if I thought I could manage it alone.” Rhyaz threw back the last of her tea and grimaced. “Or if I thought the two of us could manage it, but this Sliske pulls fate-strings.” She set her cup down and braided her fingers around it, voice solemn. “I wouldn’t put Aris through it again. Wouldn’t put Odetta in any more distress than she’s in now, either. They’ve paid their dues and more.”

Alice sat back in her chair, fingers still spider-crawling as they hovered, making the little porcelain cup revolve in place. “What’s he like, this Sliske?”

Rhyaz thought for a moment before speaking. “I haven’t met him properly. What Razwan says of him suggests he’s a different sort of critter from Lucien, but there are… there could be similarities. He’s taken humans. Done some sort of necromancy on them, kept them. Almost kept Quen, but,” she shrugged, “I don’t know the full of it. Somesuch with souls and Guthix’s investment being what salt is to a potion.”

The other witch nodded. “Can’t it be done again?”

“Only so much soul to a person, Alice. She can’t go dividing herself like a damned Ugthanakos warrior spreading mirages.” Rhyaz sat straight and twisted slightly, aiming an unkind thought at her spine as she straightened again. “Doubt he’s too much like Lucien, though, or Razwan wouldn’t have taken up with him as she has. Something else to the man, has to be.”

“She came to you directly?” Alice leaned forward, almost hunched. “Is it that World Guardian mess she’s gotten herself into?”

Rhyaz shook her head. “Maybe. That’s part of it.” She met the hag’s gaze. “But it was Aris who sent word to me. Razwan went to her for a reading, and Aris was sparing with the details for her own sake.” She sat forward as the other witch had, intent hardening her features. “Aris told me the rest of it. There’s justification enough, Alice. She said a threat stirs in that gilded city to our south, something Razwan alone will face.”

“Do you have any idea what? We need a plan before we go dragging Odetta into this. Mind’s divvied up between times and potentialities as it is. I hope you’ve got something brewing on that stove in your head, or we convene for naught.”

“I might, at that.” Rhyaz sat back in her chair, basking in the sunlight that’d intensified on her side. “She mentioned it had something to do with Quen, but knew little beyond that. You know Razwan got herself cursed?”

Alice snorted. “Of course. Insulted some genie, didn’t she? S’a wonder she isn’t riddled with curses with how she goes on.” Her green eyes crescented with humor. “You’d think a witch who’d devoted her life to curses would be up to the task of lifting one.”

“A witch who’s devoted her life to curses knows enough to avoid genies altogether. Their magic is their own.” Rhyaz shook her head. “And Razwan accuses _me_ of having less sense between the two of us.”

Alice stopped rotating her teacup and waved her hand in a lazy circle. “Fine, but what does that have to do with your plan? If you can’t tamper with the curse…”

Rhyaz smiled. “Have some faith, you bitter old broomstick. I can’t _lift_ the curse. Nothing says I can’t tamper with it.”

“So you can tamper with it. That doesn’t require Aris or Odetta. Or me, for that matter.”

“Wouldn’t normally, but the curse is part of her fate.”

Alice jerked back in her chair, lip lifting in a snarl. “No. No, and may Elidinis and every other god smite you for what you’re suggesting. Even you know better than to tamper with fates.”

Rhyaz’s hand slapped the table, making the cups rattle. “Are we or are we not witches, Alice Esfahani?” Her large brown eyes glittered with anger. “Mundanes might write us off for potion-stirrers or watered-down wizards tied to our cauldrons and herbs, but _you know good and damned well better than that._ We held the world together while those robed charlatans squabbled over runes and nearly tore the world asunder. You _know better.”_

Alice was still in the face of the smaller witch’s vehemence, her voice soft. “Out of necessity, Rhyaz. There’s no call to go appealing to-”

 _“-Fuck_ your cowardice, you tuck-tail crone. We convene and intervene when the situation demands, and this Sliske has made sure the situation demands. Whatever makes its den in Menaphos demands.” Rhyaz thumped her cane on the wooden floor next to her as much in anger as for emphasis. “Go retrieve your spine from wherever it slithered off to and stuff it right back up your ass. You’re a witch, poor as you may be, and you will good and damned well act like one.”

The hag opened her mouth to retort and paused. Rhyaz watched as she composed herself, and Alice’s voice regained some of its old sternness. “Fine, but let the record show I still think this scheme of yours is flawed right to its core.” She resumed rotating her cup. “So what are we doing about this curse if we’re not getting rid of it and outright defying fate?”

At this, Rhyaz smiled mischievously. “We’re going to level the playing field, Alice.”

  


……….

  


_The way you think about your life  
_ _Is gonna change, change tonight  
_ _Don’t even try out that frown  
_ _‘Cause your man is back in town_

Matt Dusk - “Back In Town”

  


It was warmer when Rhyaz finally emerged from Ali the Hag’s home, the sun having risen high enough to deny shade in all but those places with an overhang. She blinked into the light and looked down at Pollnivneach from the edge of the plateau. Between the odd shoppers milling between stalls and the shade provided by the awnings, a distinctive bald head - a pale one moving with the speed of purpose - caught her eye. Grinning, pleased, she tapped her cane in the sand and pinched a bit of the herbs stored in her pocket, dusting the ground around her feet with it.

The teleport was instantaneous, depositing her next to the southern wall of Ihali’s restaurant. She adjusted her grip on the cane. It was time for a show, and Rhyaz was nothing if not invested in this particular performance.

Hunching a bit and wobbling irregularly for effect, she rounded the corner and blinked up at the man she knew to be there with affected surprise. She smiled. “Well, if it isn’t the Quen of Souls returned, and just in time to see an old woman safely to her own house. You have a remarkable gift for timing, young man.”

The portion of Nomad’s face not obscured by his scarf bore a mix of impatience and the beginnings of resignation. His voice shared it. “Rhyaz. I’m afraid I must decline. I’ve more pressing matters demanding attention.”

Rhyaz reached up and patted the guard on his forearm before winding her own arm around it. “That’s nice, dear. I suppose that would matter if I’d asked.” Tugging, she aimed herself northward, moving slowly and adding another judicious wobble to her step.

Sighing, the sound more thoroughly resigned, he turned with her and matched her pace. “No doubt Razwan wasn’t silent about my disappearance. I didn’t expect a warm welcome.”

A few shoppers recognized Nomad and beat hasty retreats deeper into the marketplace. Hucksters at the stalls - native Pollnivneans - merely nodded as the pair passed them, untroubled by the Scourge’s presence.

Rhyaz lifted her cane in a wave now and then as they passed. “Razwan keeps most of her business to herself for all our sakes. She spoke only to me as far as I’m aware.”

Nomad _hmphed._ “And yet you haven’t cursed me in word or with your particular brand of magic.”

She patted his arm guard with her fingers. “Of course not. I knew you’d be back once you’d had time to sort things out in your head.” She peered up at him through the palm-like spread of her dreadlocks. “You’ve sorted them out, haven’t you?”

He sounded uncomfortable. “Perhaps.”

Rhyaz huffed a laugh. “So you’re as troubled as you were when you left. Yet here you are.”

“It was an error in judgment that I left at all.” Nomad’s voice was made craggier with defensiveness.

“No, it wasn’t. If you left, you had reason to. Just as there’s a reason you returned today.” Her fingers patted the arm guard again. “Avail yourself of an old woman’s wisdom while you have access to it, Quen. Today has been a busy one and I will almost certainly nap once I’m home.”

Nomad snorted. “I’ve your years and more, Rhyaz. Who’s the victim today? Giving the town another hallucinatory experience, or is it more a 'give a visiting priest a worrisome rash in unthinkable places' sort of day?”

Rhyaz laughed. “Tell you and spoil all my fun? I think not.” She sobered. “And wisdom isn’t all about years accrued. Out with it, young man.”

He was quiet until they passed the last stall and into the residential area of town. “Zamorak. I still can’t comprehend Razwan’s decision.”

She nodded. “She chose her friend over you.”

“Yes.”

“And your own heart places her above all others.”

“It does.” He sounded uncomfortable again.

Rhyaz ignored his discomfort, pressing on. “We’re often told that the most important love is that between lovers. Not in obvious ways, of course, but subtly - in story, in the brushfire that is youth when our urges run rampant, in watching others as they discover such things with each other and shout it from rooftops as new lovers are wont to do.” She leaned a bit less on the cane and more on Nomad’s arm. “Legends are built around the idea of it, both mundane and extraordinary, and the love of friendship is nestled off to the side, often forgotten.”

As they walked and Rhyaz spoke, Pollnivneans passed, sometimes greeting the odd pair with a nod or a hello. More and more they limited themselves to nodding, seeing the serious expression on the little witch’s face which wasn’t readily apparent to Nomad as they walked side by side. Though her voice remained mostly light, the sight of the usually mischief-spirited woman’s face deterred them from interrupting.

She continued. “It’s not always forgotten. Razwan hasn’t. Whatever he was in the past, Zamorak has done well by her and she by him. She recognizes it, marks when someone stands with her during the difficult times. She responds in kind.”

Nomad’s voice was solemn. “I’ve countered her. Opposed her, fought her, jeopardized her safety in the past. Is that why?”

Rhyaz shook her head, tapping her cane a little harder on the bleached stone as they walked. “No, and get that right out of your head. She loves you. For reasons I know, some could guess at, and for some wholly her own, she does.” The tapping became quieter. “You’re trying to pinpoint which of you is wrong, aren’t you?”

“One of us must be.”

They passed the clustered houses and into the more sparsely-habited area, nearing Rhyaz’s home. She slowed her pace. “That’s the fundamental flaw in your thinking, Quen. Neither of you is wrong for how you feel. Not Razwan about Zamorak, not you about her.”

His voice was puzzled. “I don’t follow.”

“I know. S’what I’m trying to explain.” She looked up as birds in flight passed above, their figures blotting out the sun briefly. “There’s no right or wrong about who you choose to love most of all. It’s like the way hair parts - sometimes it falls left or right, sometimes straight down the middle, but it’s just how the thing happens. Friends are no less than lovers in the grand scheme of things. Where they fall in the affections of others is a matter of the other in question, and is no more right or wrong than the parting of hair. For some, it’s the lovers. For some, the friends.”

They stopped before Rhyaz’s small, tidy home, and she turned to look up at him. “There’s no easy answer I can give you for how to sort this for yourself, Quen. Never is when it comes to love of any kind.” She released her hold on his arm and grasped his long, gloved hand in her small one. “What you need to understand is that, while Zamorak is first in her life, you aren’t unimportant to her. I’ve seen the wear it’s put on her in your absence, no matter that Mahjarrat keeping her company more often since then. Something critical to her life is missing and she suffers for it.”

Nomad sounded hesitant. “Critical.”

Rhyaz smiled. “Critical. Vital. Essential to her.” She released his hand and patted it before settling it over her other atop the cane. “Go home, Quen. Listen while she rails at you. Pull some humility together and apologize. And _let yourself enjoy_ being loved. You needn’t be the first in her life to be important. Take a page from Sliske’s book in this case, although I’d recommend it being the sole page when it comes to that one.”

His eyes suggested a grimace, but he nodded. “Perhaps I will. Sliske-”

She waved a hand, silencing him. “-Do what I told you. Go home and be loved. Don’t bother yourself about Sliske or the rest of it.” Her smile returned. “That Mahjarrat will have his own fish to fry when the time comes.”

Nomad nodded again. “I will consider what you’ve said.” He began to turn, stopped, eyeing Rhyaz. “And I would strongly advise against whatever prank you’ve plotted against Sliske. He may not take kindly to your particular brand of… fun.”

Rhyaz laughed, waving him off. “Never fear for me, Quen. I can be deadly serious when the situation calls for it.”

He huffed disbelievingly, lifting one gloved hand and offering a small wave. “I will believe _that_ when I see it. Good afternoon, Rhyaz.”

She lifted a hand in return. “Shade in your path, young man.”

Rhyaz watched him turn, long legs resuming the distance-eating stride with which he’d first approached her in the pavilion. Sunlight reflected dully from the metal on his arm guards, and his split cape left sidewinder-trails in the thin dusting of sand behind him.

“Serious won’t be long in waiting, Quen. For both of us. Let’s hope we’re up to facing the devils of our pasts when the time comes.” She cast a glance further south. “Whatever haunts the Scourge of Souls must be a mightily fearsome critter, indeed.”

She turned again, embracing the familiarity of home, and closed the door.


End file.
